


a reason to believe we all will be received

by voodoochild



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Caretaking, Celebrations, Character of Faith, Fainting, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Muslim Character, Muslim Holidays, Prayer, Ramadan, Team as Family, loss of consciouness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 23:52:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15617784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: Ramadan with one's road family of choice is not what you'd call traditional. For Sami, it's got its charms.





	a reason to believe we all will be received

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moonsault](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsault/gifts).



> Takes place post the 6/4 Raw in Houston, referencing the Sami-Lashley promo and the Finn-Kevin main event. Title from Paul Simon’s “Graceland”.
> 
> While I am not a practicing Muslim, I have attempted to be as sensitive and faithful as possible to a true depiction of Ramadan for a modern Syrian-Canadian Muslim. This includes discussions with Muslims from Algeria, Saudi Arabia, and Syria, as well as the US, and while there are varying levels of adherence to certain Islamic customs (i.e. music during prayer, qadaa and how one deals with it, food considered halal, homosexuality), I’ve tried to strike a balance between what would be possible within the confines of life on the road with one's well-meaning non-Muslim friends, and what is required by religious law. 
> 
> Happy Extreme Deadline, Mith. Not-so-anonymous author happened to see your request for Sami + Ramadan feels, and was powerless to stop said feels. Hope you enjoy the treat as much as I enjoyed writing it.

He doesn’t know how he got into the shower.

It was Kevin, because of course it was Kevin, but it’s not just Kevin sitting in here now. Which he can’t quite piece together. What happened? Why can’t he move? Why is he in Kevin’s lap with Seth holding one hand and Roman holding the other? Why is Finn curled up on Kevin’s other side? Why hasn’t the rest of the roster beaten down the door? What-

“Breathe.”

Not Kevin. The sound is too deep. Maybe Roman.

“Sami, breathe.”

Sharp. Finn’s accent skewing the vowels.

“C’mon, we’ve got you.”

Ah. Seth, holding his right hand and squeezing.

“Don’t fucking do that to me.” Kevin, soft against his ear. Mouth pressed to his temple. “You’re supposed to tell somebody when you start feeling dizzy.”

He blinks the water - cool and beating down from the shower onto them - out of his eyes, looks at Finn’s mouth set in a frown, at Roman’s sharp-eyed concern. “What happened?”

“Passed out,” Roman says, displeasure evident in his voice. “Middle of the locker room, right next to Seth and I.”

“I don’t pass out-”

“You sure as hell did.” Seth’s hair is plastered to him, and he uses his arm to get it out of his face. “You came back after your promo, packed your bag and started talking to Bo, and like five minutes later, just fucking dropped onto the floor. We were about to take you to the trainer when Kevin came back from his match.”

“What the fuck happened?” Roman asks.

Sami curls into Kevin’s shoulder as he clocks his hands shaking and his stomach tying itself into further knots, because now he’s got a pretty good idea. 

“You didn’t eat, did you?”

Kevin asks the question even though he knows the answer, and Finn looks up in surprise. “I thought some of the others, Mojo and Mustafa and Ariya - weren’t they having Iftar earlier?”

“Sami forgets. Or convinces himself that he’s fine, he’ll eat when he gets to the hotel,” Seth says, remembering Ring of Honor.

“Or gets too wrapped up in bullshit angles he has to fucking carry by himself,” Kevin growls.

Sami nods, weakly. “Yeah. That one. I meant to go eat, but then Bobby caught me and we were talking about things to add to the promo segment, and he did at least try to talk Vince into cutting the line about his military service. And then we had to go out there, so I guess it kind of caught up to me-”

“I’m going to kick that motherfucker’s ass.” 

Surprisingly, it’s not Kevin, it’s Roman. He’s narrow-eyed, shoulders tense, both his hands wrapped around Sami’s left hand. Sami isn’t as close to Roman as he is with everyone else, why is Roman taking this so seriously? 

“No, I’m the dummy who wasn’t paying attention-” he tries to say, but Roman turns that glare on him.

“I don’t give a fuck what company he worked for, and I don’t give a fuck that he’s Brock’s golden boy. He’s in my locker room, and even if it’s only out of ignorance, he’s fucking with one of my boys. Your health is more important than that angle. And if the next word out of your mouth is questioning that you’re one of my boys, I’m gonna be pissed.”

"I . . . really?" Sami turns to Seth, who shrugs. 

“You think I’m going to argue? You are. We’ve been brothers since we lived out of that shitbox at 17th and Diamond, right? So you got adopted by him when I did, just like Kevin and Jimmy.”

Kevin’s arms tighten around Sami, his nose nudging at Sami’s ear, and Sami abruptly realizes that he’s not only hungry, he’s freezing, and so is Kevin. Which means the rest must be too. He tries to scramble to his feet, but he’s still clearly dizzy because Finn has to make a grab for his waist while Seth and Roman hold him steady.

“No, I’m okay. I am, I swear.”

“Oh my god, you weren’t fecking kidding,” Finn says to Kevin, steadying Sami until he gets his legs under him. “He really doesn’t know when to quit.”

“It’s not just the damn gimmick, I keep telling everyone. _Mon idiot préféré_ , will you let us help you before you crack your head open?”

Sami nods, weakly, and lets Seth and Roman guide him across the tile to the bench. Kevin gets up, wringing his t-shirt and shorts out a little, and gives a nod to Finn. Sami watches Finn smile at him before slipping out the door - hey, where’s he-?

“Relax, he’s just going to take care of something,” Seth says, settling down on the bench next to Sami. “Listen, how are you feeling, aside from being hungry?”

His first instinct is to protest - fine, he’s fine and he just needs to eat and drink a little - but with Kevin leaning against the sink staring at him way too knowingly and Roman raising an eyebrow as well, he takes a deep breath and actually considers the question. Left hand shaking at his side from the shoulder pain, the bad knee aching from being twisted under him on the tile, screaming motherfucker of a headache, weird crick in his back.

“Cold. Headache, left shoulder, right knee, and my back.”

“That in order?” Kevin asks, and Sami nods. Kevin turns to Roman. “Can you grab Finn and tell him we’re gonna relocate to my hotel room? And keep any fucking cameras away?”

Roman claps a hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “Yeah, man, you got it. We’ll meet you there.”

After the door closes behind Roman, Sami startles as he feels a blanket wrapping around him. Seth’s got a towel around his shoulders and throws another to Kevin, but there’s a giant scratchy orange blanket covering Sami, and he doesn’t remember Seth going anywhere.

“Hey, relax,” Kevin says quietly, wrapping the towel around Sami’s head and rubbing, getting the water out of his hair. “You zoned out a little. Seth was gone for like, three minutes. I came over here to sit down because you were shaking. He came back and put the blanket around you. That’s all.”

“I brought dry clothes,” Seth says, toweling off his own hair, though the process is far more labor-intensive. “When you’re ready, they’re on top of your gear bag.”

“Okay.” Sami can hear his voice skewing high. Nervous. “I’m sorry-”

“Dude, if you apologize to me, you know I’m going to punch you in the mouth,” Seth says. He throws the used towel onto the pile and gently touches Sami’s head. “Brothers, okay? Love you.”

“Love you.”

Seth glances meaningfully at Kevin. “Meet you up at the room?”

“Yeah. Thanks for everything, I’ve got him. We’ll be ten minutes behind you.”

He watches Seth walk out, this time. Doesn’t jump at Kevin wrapping his arms around him, lending his body warmth to the blanket. He’s feeling less like an ice cube, less like he wants to vomit up the nothing in his stomach, and he leans into Kevin. Solidity and strength and familiar play of Kevin’s fingers over Sami’s shoulder.

“I feel stupid,” Sami admits.

“You are stupid,” Kevin says, but softens it with a kiss to Sami’s temple. “You know you need to be careful when you’re fasting. You know live shows cut into your usual schedule. And you know -”

“That I shouldn’t give a shit about Bobby Lashley right now.”

“Yeah, that too. I was going for - you know that I worry about you.”

Kevin’s voice wavers, but his embrace doesn’t. Sami curls into it, pulls Kevin as close as possible, and sighs. “I know. _Tu ne devrais pas faire ça._ ”

“ _Je m'inquiète toujours. Je m'inquiéterai toujours._ ”

***

He’s definitely feeling better by the time he gets into dry clothes, digs out the bag of almonds and dates he packed and nibbles at them until his stomach stops doing flips. He sips his way through a bottle of water while Kevin steers him down to the parking garage, into their rental, and drives over to the hotel. It’s weird that, when they get off the elevator on their floor, he can hear noise and music, but Kevin’s poker-faced and he guesses the people down the hall must be partying.

He opens the door to an 80’s mix playing, nearly two dozen people stuffed into their room, and a whole slew of amazing smells. Roman and Seth and Renee on the couch, playing video games with Mojo, Xavier, and Baron. Corey, Becky, and Bayley are heckling, balancing plates of food. Sasha and Ember seem to be constructing what looks like a giant floor cushion with every spare pillow in the hotel. Nia is directing Elias, Finn, Bo, and Sarath on rearranging furniture to set up more food. 

“What the hell, you guys?”

Mustafa ducks around Sasha, a smile breaking across his face. “ _Ramadan mubarak_ , my brother. Have you prayed?”

“No, I didn’t-”

“Too loud in that arena,” Mustafa says, taking Sami by the arm and leading him through the crowd toward the bedroom. “I kept everyone out of there, I’ll make them turn the music down so you can concentrate.”

Sami waves his hands. “No, no, it’s fine. I usually have my own music on anyway. Thank you.”

“It’s not even a question. Go. Pray. I’ll make sure no one’s eaten all the mutabbal. Uzma sent it.”

The bedroom is quieter, cooler, and Sami changes into clean sweats and a tee shirt before he goes into the bathroom for wudhu, as he’s broken it. He always feels vaguely grimy after a show, even if he hasn’t wrestled, particularly during Ramadan. He’s also missed _isha_ as well as _mahgrib_ , and Iftar . . . wow, he’s sort of a mess tonight. 

As the sink fills, he tries to focus himself, ignore his head and stomach and knee. His iPod helps with ignoring the 80’s crotch rock out in the living room, and he cues up a Syrian singer reciting surat before dipping his hands into the water and beginning to wash.

Hands. Mouth. Face. Arms.

Head. Ears. Feet.

The first prayer is automatic, the second slower. He places his prayer rug down before beginning _Al-Fatihah_ , his voice soft but sure. There were years when he had to be careful of his volume while praying, when he recited surat in whispers. Other years he prayed in the backseats of cars or in stairwells. 

This is a better year than most.

_Sujud_ to _Tashahhud_ , twice over, bringing the prayer to a close. Sami tries not to be relieved - it’s not supposed to be a chore, but his knee hurts like hell and he’s past starving and into ravenous. He does feel better for having prayed, and he rolls up his rug, stashes it in his usual bag. Clicks off the light and goes out into the chaos of the living room, where he doesn’t get two steps before Finn pulls him over to the floor nest and Ariya pushes a plate of food into his hands.

Oh man, they went all-out, ordered from Tayeb-Mandi and Loving Hut, he kind of wolfs down two spring rolls and nearly all the tabbouli before taking a breath and looking up at the assortment of wrestlers in his hotel room.

“You guys- seriously, thank you, this is amazing.”

“Shut up and eat, Zayn,” Corey grouses. “You love us, we love you, kumbaya.”

Sami's chewing, so most of the room heckles for him, Becky tossing a roll of paper towels at Corey’s head, Mustafa and Baron shoulder-checking Corey from either side. Sami takes a bite of knafeh and while his eyes almost roll back in pleasure (oh, it’s just like his aunt’s, extra pistachio), he ignores Corey. 

“Yeah, well I say fuck you, Graves,” Kevin tosses back, digs out a box from one of his bags. “Just for that, you don’t get any of this."

"Is that what I think it is?" Mojo asks. 

Kevin shakes his head. "I’m not saying it, I’ll butcher the pronunciation. The apricot stuff.”

Oh. _Oh._

Kevin found real apricot paste for qamar al-din, the good stuff. Sami couldn’t get it last year or the year before, almost everywhere in the States only has regular or dried Turkish apricots, not the Syrian leather. Sami has missed it so much, it’s not really Ramadan without qamar al-din.

“I, uh, didn’t get ahold of it until today. There was a halal market near the arena and the lady gave me directions to another store to pick it up. So you can’t have the drink tonight, but-”

Sami is going to kiss Kevin, once their co-workers leave, but he settles now for tearing open the box and taking out a few pieces, passing one to Kevin, one to Mustafa, one to Ariya, and one to Mojo. “ _Shukraan_. You know what this means to me. To us.”

Kevin smiles, holds up his piece in a mock-toast, and the five of them bump fists before eating the qamar al-din. Ah, it’s sweet and soft and perfect, tasting of home.

It almost makes up for how difficult this year has been.

***

Kevin kicks everyone out of their room a little over an hour later. Sami can’t say he minds, he’s going to need to be up for _suhoor_ in five hours, and he’s kind of falling asleep in his daal. He does insist on everyone taking leftover food with them, swiping the last of the vegetable biryani, falafel, and knafeh for his own morning meal. Ariya and Mojo insist on helping them clean up and hijack a few of the other wrestlers to set the hotel room back to rights.

Finally, the door closes on Seth and Roman taking the empty containers to wash and carrying the vacuum they’d used, and Sami sighs in relief. 

“I really do appreciate this-”

Kevin nods, reaches out and snags him around the waist. Sami flushes, because he not-so-secretly loves how touchy Kevin gets during Ramadan, when they can’t touch or kiss during the day. When the sun sets, Kevin just goes a little crazy, grabbing Sami and holding him. Stroking his hands along Sami’s skin like he’s forgotten the sensation, pressing small, sweet kisses to Sami’s face and neck.

Sami settles against Kevin on the bed, wrapping his arms around Kevin’s waist. Luxuriating in the simple press of their bodies, the scent of Kevin, the cool touch of Kevin’s fingers on his cheek. “Are you going to let me say thank you?” Sami asks, nosing at Kevin’s temple. “Like, a whole sentence?”

“Nope,” Kevin says.

“Why not?”

“You already said it a bunch of times, and you know you don’t have to. Your friends love you. I love you. We want to see you happy, especially at a time when everything seems - sorry, I know I shouldn’t curse, but really goddamned awful.”

Sami laughs softly; Kevin has never held back foul language in his life, though he does try to reduce it during Ramadan out of respect. “Technically, you don’t have to worry about the indecent speech laws. I’m stretching them every time I walk out from that curtain, the number of-”

“ _Technically_ , you should be Universal Champion, not that Magilla Gorilla reject. Or Intercontinental champ, or US champ, you deserve gold, not to be the good hand putting over a has-been who was a has-been when we were tearing the roof off Ring of Honor.” Kevin’s hands span over his waist, pulling him closer. “Are we gonna do the thing where I tell you how awesome and talented you are? Because I would really rather kiss you.”

Sami feels himself smile before Kevin’s mouth touches his - soft and sweet - Sami’s fingers tugging on the slight prickliness of Kevin’s hair. Kevin purrs, he loves Sami touching his hair, the sound rumbling between them. Kevin is barely moving his mouth, simply holding Sami in place, breath heated and quick against Sami’s lips. He tastes like apricot and spice, and Sami sighs in pleasure.

“I love you,” he says sleepily, and Kevin makes a soft noise. “You take care of me.”

“Somebody has to,” Kevin murmurs, but it’s affectionate and sweet, Kevin rubbing his nose against Sami’s. His hands run down Sami’s back, mapping his spine, and Sami arches like a cat. “ _Rajul wasim._ ”

Kevin’s accent is, as always, a little off, but Sami doesn’t care. Not when Kevin’s complimenting him in Arabic. “I thought I was your favorite idiot.”

“You are. You’re also beautiful.” Kevin places a kiss to Sami’s temple. “And sweet.” A kiss to his cheek. “And far too kind.” Another to his shoulder. “And staggeringly talented.” His shirt pushed up and another one to his sternum. “And every single day, I wonder how I ended up with someone like you.”

“Did you ever imagine it would involve a bar in Quebec and an annoying little shit deciding to sit in your lap to freak you out?”

Kevin smirks. “Not a chance. And I’m so glad you had no sense of personal space, because if it were up to me, we’d still be yearning at each other like a couple of pre-teens.”

Sami curls a thigh over Kevin’s, lies nearly atop him. Warm-solid Kevin beneath him, his hands curving possessively around Sami’s ass. He moans in half-pleasure, half-exhaustion. “Kev, I’m gonna pass out again and I don’t want to do it in the middle of sex. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, _cheri_. Sleep before you actually do pass out again.”

Dimly, he feels Kevin shift him over to reach the bedside lamp, and then pull him close again. Kevin never complains when Sami wants to sleep sprawled all over him, even though it makes him wake up with a crick in his back. He does complain if Sami talks or kicks, but that doesn’t happen often, because Sami knows during Ramadan nights, he’s dead to the world. Hurricanes haven’t woken him up.

Kevin takes care of him and Sami gives thanks every day for it.

_Insha’Allah_ , he will be worthy of it.

**Author's Note:**

> French:  
> Mon idiot préféré - my favorite idiot  
> Tu ne devrais pas faire ça - You shouldn’t do that.  
> Je m'inquiète toujours. Je m'inquiéterai toujours. - I always worry. I always will.
> 
> Arabic:  
> Iftar - traditional fast-breaking meal eaten after sunset during Ramadan  
> Ramadan mubarak - “blessed Ramadan”, traditional greeting  
> Mutabbal - appetizer dish of mashed eggplant with tahini, olive oil, and garlic  
> Wudhu - Muslim cleaning ritual, one breaks it if they lose consciousness, bleed, or experience bodily discharge and must perform it again  
> Mahgrib, Isha - Muslim times of prayer, at sunset and night respectively  
> Al-Fatihah - the first chapter of the Quran, recited during every daily prayer  
> Knafeh - dessert made of cheese, sweet syrup, and pistachios found all over the Middle East  
> Qamar al-din - Syrian apricot paste and the sweet iced drink it makes, traditionally served at Iftar  
> Shukraan - thank you  
> Suhoor - traditional pre-dawn meal during Ramadan  
> Rajul wasim - handsome man  
> Insha’Allah - if God wills it


End file.
